


How to Have Your Virgin and Fuck Him Too

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (Dallas 2014)
Genre: Awkwardness, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Halloween Costumes, Javert Lives, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Roleplay, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with a boyfriend who was a virgin was without fail the fact that deflowering him would inevitably alter that state.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Have Your Virgin and Fuck Him Too

The problem with a boyfriend who was a virgin was without fail the fact that deflowering him would inevitably alter that state, Javert thought. 

Or partner. SO. Whatever the kids called it these days. The words were all equally terrible. Valjean was… _his_. Yes. Maybe that summed it up best. His to obsess over. His to come home to. His to stare at instead of the screen if they settled on a movie for the night.

And he was also the purest, most virginal creature Javert had ever known, which was where this whole dilemma had started. On the one hand, merely thinking about getting to be the one to claim Valjean’s virginity made his hands sweat and his face flush and he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything.

On the other hand, nothing, _nothing_ could be as good as coming home to Valjean, or going out for dinner with him, or taking him to the park or the movies and watch people watching him. They never failed to notice that innocence Valjean exuded that was so hard to describe, that purity that made Javert sweat and dream of stripping it away, corrupting his beautiful, virginal Jean Valjean.

It was a dilemma Javert had not figured out how to solve yet.

***

When Halloween came around, Gisquet threw the annual office party. Javert ignored the sniggering in the background when Rogers asked if he’d bring his _boyfriend_. Gisquet—or rather, his secretary; Javert didn’t believe for one second that Gisquet had spent a single second on party plans—had declared a fairytale theme for the event.

He didn’t even have to think twice about the costume. He did think twice about how to ask Valjean to dress up for him.

In the end, mute and sweating, he pushed the costume into Valjean’s hands which he’d picked up on the way home. Valjean was staring at him in surprise, eyes wide and luminous, a smile on his lips. Had Valjean always smiled so much? Javert couldn’t remember smiles from how it had been before, years ago, but now Valjean always smiled when he saw Javert, and imagining him without smiles seemed fundamentally wrong.

Then Valjean opened the bag, surveyed what was within, and tilted his head, questioning.

Javert brushed his sweaty hands against his pants. “It’s for Halloween,” he said, and then had to clear his throat. “Umm. Office party. You’ll come?”

“Is this… my costume?” Valjean slowly drew out a length of red cloth.

Javert swallowed as he watched. His own costume was still in the trunk of his car. He hadn’t trusted himself to bring it inside. Not with this in the house. Not with Valjean so… distracting.

He couldn’t spoil it, and he couldn’t trust himself not to spoil it too soon.

“Yeah,” he said simply, and Valjean gave him a small smile. Was that puzzlement or indulgence? Javert couldn’t quite tell.

“Okay.” Slowly, puzzled but smiling, Valjean put the length of cloth back into the bag.

Now Javert was sure there was a hint of amusement in his smile, but it was also so sweet that it didn’t really matter. Nothing mattered, not even if they’d all keep snickering at him for his _boyfriend_ or his leather coat or the time Rogers claimed he’d found his FetLife profile (and what was fucking Rogers doing on that site in the first place anyway? Not that he’d asked. Better to ignore it and seethe quietly. And delete his profile.).

***

On the day of the party, Javert kept fussing over his own costume to keep from thinking about Valjean wearing his. Because that’s what he’d been doing for the past few weeks when he’d been forced to bring himself off with his own hand, sometimes even in the office, sometimes with Valjean innocently asleep next to him. (Those were simultaneously the best and the worst times and he tried not to think about it too often because there was a limit to how often he could jerk off.)

Now, finally, Javert could barely look at Valjean in the costume he’d picked for him. Likewise, his own costume seemed to have a similar effect on Valjean. To say the truth, he had hesitated a little, because it had seemed silly even to him. But at night, when he woke and turned to look at Valjean, so angelically, innocently asleep, Javert’s own cock suddenly, shockingly hard, he’d often watch him for a while. It made him simultaneously ashamed for how he wanted to corrupt this lovely innocence, and aroused by the thought of how Valjean would let himself be corrupted—how Valjean, who’d kept that purity even in prison, would let Javert take his virginity if that was what Javert wanted.

And Javert wanted. He just hadn’t figured out how yet. 

The costume Javert wore went well with his long leather coat, and so he’d kept that coat on as well. In fact, his costume consisted of little more than a pair of ears: wolf ears of grey fur now settled atop his head, and sharp fangs in his mouth (cheap vampire fangs, but no one had to know that.) Next to him, Valjean wore slacks and a simple, white shirt—and, most importantly, a red cloak with a hood. In his hand, he carried a basket filled with a bottle of wine and some muffins. Ostensibly, it was a contribution to the party, but really it was just a prop so that Javert could imagine hunting down Valjean like the big bad wolf he was.

At the thought, Javert grinned again, showing his teeth, and Rogers was snickering at him until Javert snarled. That made Rogers shut up. It also made Valjean reach out and take hold of his hand, and if Rogers wanted to snigger about him holding hands with his _boyfriend_ , let him. At least Javert didn’t have to come to the party on his own, like Rogers, who certainly wouldn’t be getting any today.

Again Javert gave Valjean a possessive look. Maybe the costume had been a silly idea. But it had made Valjean laugh, and even if part of that laughter was probably directed at Javert, Valjean had put the costume on willingly enough.

Two glasses of wine, one boring speech by Gisquet and one cringe-worthy speech by Chabouillet later, who’d quite obviously had way more than the two glasses of wine, Valjean took hold of his basket and gave Javert an unreadable look.

“I’m going outside for some fresh air,” he murmured, eyes warm as he looked at Javert.

“Oh, umm… okay,” Javert said, taken by surprise, and then immediately distracted when Valjean turned and calmly walked towards the door.

He’d tucked the shirt into his slacks, and now Javert couldn’t take his eyes off his ass, which was a great ass. An incredibly ass. Firm and—

Javert thoughts skittered away as he licked along his fangs with his tongue. God, the way Valjean looked when he walked! Here he was, Jean Valjean dragged into the annual Police Halloween party, and he moved as innocently as he did when he carried food or medicine or blankets to whoever was in need of his help.

Javert nearly groaned when Valjean paused for a moment. Valjean looked back at him over his shoulder, the skin around his eyes creasing as he smiled, tender and a little sheepish. Then he continued, walked past Betty from HR and Liza from Vice, all calm and dignified with his red hood on, the cape swishing behind him.

“Where the hell did you even find a guy like that,” Rogers said somewhere behind him.

Javert didn’t even deign that with an answer. Now that Valjean had made it out of the door, out of his sight, it was easier to think, and other instincts kicked in.

He clenched his fist, nearly groaning when he realized that that must have been an invitation in Valjean’s eyes. Valjean had looked at him in his big bad wolf outfit and hadn’t laughed, had smiled at him with that innocent warmth and had tried to give him what he wanted.

A chance to hunt down his prey. A chance for the predator in Javert to follow the trail of this innocent.

“Still jealous I see,” he said to Rogers, which admittedly sounded a bit silly because the fangs made him lisp a little, but fuck that, fuck Rogers, he had a Valjean to hunt down and prey on.

He threw back his head and laughed with his fangs bared, and Rogers took an involuntary step back at the sight. Then Javert followed Valjean’s trail—which in truth simply meant to follow him out the door and down the corridor towards the large windows, where Valjean was waiting in the moonlight with his hood up and his basket in his hands.

Valjean gave him a small, delighted smile when Javert came closer. Then he continued down another corridor, away from the loud music of Gisquet’s party.

Javert stalked after him, feeling the leather coat swish around his legs. Again he prodded his fangs with his tongue, grinning as he followed Valjean’s trail. For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to corner his prey: press him against one of the large windows and slowly pull off his clothes until he’d beg for mercy, or maybe, Valjean would instead beg for Javert to show no mercy…

“Oh!” Valjean said, feigning shock when they made it past yet another corner, trapped in a dead end with a wall of windows in front of him.

Javert smiled widely, showing off his fangs. “Did you get lost?”

He was strangely excited by the fact that he’d trapped Valjean right in front of Chabouillet’s office. Who was still at the party, and drunk, which meant he wouldn’t leave for at least two more hours, during which he’d try to get people to sing increasingly embarrassing karaoke songs with him.

Not that Javert planned to drag his prey into Chabouillet’s office… Although his mentor’s desk had always looked sturdy.

Javert swallowed when he thought of Valjean spread out on the old-fashioned, dark oak.

Valjean’s smile was a little too wide, but he remained in front of the window, eyes calm as he watched Javert stalk closer. “I think I might have lost my way,” he admitted.

Did he imagine that or did Valjean sound a little breathless?

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous, all alone out here?” Javert asked, a hint of a growl beneath the words.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, but the sad truth was, Javert thought as he slowly advanced, he’d never felt as much in charge of a situation as this before. His cock was hard beneath his coat. His heart was racing with the certainty that Valjean was his, that Valjean would let him do _anything_...

Valjean’s eyes widened. Was there a flush on his cheeks? There was, Javert decided, or maybe it was just all the wine, but what counted was that Valjean was still here.

“Then I should be grateful that I’m not alone anymore,” Valjean now said, his voice soft, echoing in the empty corridor.

Javert took another step closer. He was close enough to touch. Another step, and Valjean tried to move back, but hit the glass with his back. Javert grinned, showing off his fangs, his cock twitching with a powerful jolt of lust at the way he’d trapped his prey.

Valjean took a deep breath. He was still smiling, but his eyes were dark now. He didn’t try to escape, didn’t even offer any resistance when Javert took the basket from him and set it aside.

“This forest is no place for an innocent such as you,” Javert murmured, and fuck, now Valjean was biting back a laugh at the lisp.

Those fucking fangs.

“Why, what could possibly harm me here?” Valjean asked, eyes all wide with innocence.

And if Valjean was still only barely able to suppress his laughter, then Javert didn’t care, because damn, Valjean looked hot in that silly red cloak, his face hooded, strong shoulders concealed beneath the flowing red cloth. Damn if Javert wasn’t imagining fucking him now while he was still wearing that cape and nothing else!

“Have you not heard of the big, bad wolf?” Javert asked. He tried to make it sound like a growl—his voice was all low anyway, and yeah, he sounded hungry alright, was nearly panting with the need to eat Valjean up, devour that delicious innocence. Let them laugh at the silly costumes, because none of them would get to fuck sexy, virginal Red Riding Hood today!

“A wolf?” Valjean’s eyes were still wide, and his mouth was open in exaggerated surprise. He didn’t move away even when Javert leaned in, placing his arms casually against the glass so that Valjean was trapped.

Javert stared at their reflection in the mirror, groaning a little with lust at what he saw. There he was, tall and threatening. He towered over Valjean, all predator in his black leather cloak, while Valjean looked back at him with such trusting calmness in his eyes.

Javert swallowed. His cock was aching in his trousers, and he pressed his teeth against his fangs again before he grabbed Valjean’s arm. “Come on. I’ll keep you safe from that wolf,” he murmured and pulled Valjean into Chabouillet’s office.

Valjean was laughing softly under his breath, but didn’t protest when inside, Javert closed the door and pressed him against the wall. His eyes were warm, gleaming in the darkness of the deserted office. Enough light fell in from outside that Javert could make out Valjean’s expression, but it was gloomy enough that he grinned wickedly, baring his fangs at Valjean, pleased by how he had to look in the darkness.

If only Chabouillet had mirrors installed in his office. Maybe he should suggest that. By the time they’d get back to the party he’d be drunk enough to seriously consider it.

“What big teeth you have!” Valjean said quietly and reached out to press his fingers against Javert’s mouth, the touch very light.

Javert released a playful little growl. “The better to protect you with from the big, bad wolf,” he said, and then nipped gently at the finger. The fake fangs made it a little awkward, but he could see Valjean’s breathing speed up, his eyes wide and luminous in the gloom.

Valjean swallowed. He held Javert’s gaze. Then, very slowly, his hand shaking a little although he didn’t stop even once, he trailed his hand down Javert’s chest, down the length of his leather trench coat. Down to where even now his cock pressed thick and hungry against the confines of his pants.

“My, what a big…” Valjean stopped and swallowed.

Now he was embarrassed, Javert could see that, although he could also feel Valjean’s hand press against his dick, gentle and curious, not shying away from the reality of Javert’s desire for him.

“What a big dick you have,” Valjean quietly finished after a moment.

It should have been ridiculous. It wasn’t.

A new wave of lust hit Javert, his cock twitching against Valjean’s hand when he thought of how Valjean had never said anything like it before, of how Javert was the first, the only one to corrupt him so.

Javert leaned forward. Instinctively, Valjean tilted back his head to give him access to his throat. Javert breathed against the tattoo, staring with greed at the old, faded lines of the crown.

“The better to fuck you with,” Javert said. The words came out as a soft growl.

He could hear Valjean exhale, a shocked little gasp, his body tensing. And still he didn’t move away. Instead, his hands came to rest on Javert’s arms, clutching at him as Javert lowered his head, allowed his fake fangs to scratch across the bare skin of Valjean’s throat.

That got him another gasp, the softest, surprised moan, Valjean’s pulse throbbing hard and fast beneath the thin skin of his throat.

“Javert,” Valjean breathed, his hands tense in the leather of his coat. But despite his strength, he allowed Javert to press his leg between his own legs, surrendering to it all, allowing Javert’s fantasy to play out.

Javert could feel how hard Valjean was. Valjean’s cock pressed against his leg, warm and firm, and there was no resistance in Valjean at all—just another soft almost-moan when Javert scraped his false fangs over his throat again, hungrily breathing in his scent.

He could fuck him now. The thought hit Javert with sudden, arousing clarity.

He could strip Valjean until he wore nothing but the red cloak and spread him out on Chabouillet’s desk. Or he could fuck him against the wall. Or sit in Chabouillet’s chair wearing nothing but his leather coat and watch as Valjean rode his lap, watch as Valjean fucked himself open on his dick, and Javert groaned because damn, that was nearly enough to make himself come right here on the spot, panting against Valjean’s neck.

“I want to fuck you,” he breathed into Valjean’s ear, watched as that made Valjean close his eyes and shiver.

Yeah. Yeah, Valjean would let him take his virginity here.

“I want to fuck you,” he growled again, loving how the word made a jolt run through Valjean’s body. Valjean’s dick was hard against his thigh, Valjean’s hands still clutching at his arms—but there was no other motion. Valjean was happy to let him proceed as he wanted.

“But I won’t deflower you in Chabouillet’s office.” Javert’s voice was rough. He could hear the lust dripping off the words despite the silly fangs in his mouth. Valjean shuddered again, eyes still closed.

“No. I’ll claim that some other time.” Javert smiled against Valjean’s neck, control slowly returning to him at last. “But you can’t go back to the party like this.”

Valjean swallowed painfully. “What does the wolf suggest?”

“Touch yourself,” Javert growled again, and this time he didn’t even have to play pretend.

God, he wanted to devour Valjean. Strip his innocence from him, take his purity bit by bit—and in the end, Valjean would still be the purest thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

“Go on. Take it out for me. We’re alone here.”

Valjean’s eyes opened. The red hood slipped back as Valjean exhaled, eyes so wide and dark they seemed black in the gloom. Javert ran his thumb over where Valjean’s pulse was racing at his throat, watching as that made Valjean shiver.

For a moment he thought Valjean wouldn’t do it. It was a stupid suggestion, he knew that. God, did he ever know how many of the things he’d done were stupid.

But they were all alone in Chabouillet’s office, and no one would come looking for them if they hurried up, and he couldn’t help the exhilaration that flooded him at the way Valjean so readily played along with his fantasies. Valjean who’d put on the stupid red hood with a word of protest and who hadn’t even laughed at the dumb plastic fangs Javert had put in.

Valjean was still breathing heavily as he slid his hand down. They stared at each other as Valjean pulled down his zipper.

Javert had shifted back a little, removing the pressure from where Valjean’s dick had pressed reassuringly hard against him. Now, as he stared at Valjean’s mouth and warm eyes, Valjean made a soft, almost pained sound as he freed his cock.

Javert looked down. Yeah, Valjean was hard alright and God, he’d made that happen. He’d made that happen despite the silly costumes and the way he kept lisping with the damn fangs in.

He couldn’t even say what was more potent: the easy way in which Valjean surrendered to all his terrible ideas, or the knowledge that he could ask him now and Valjean would tell him that no one else had ever touched his dick. No one had ever bothered to find out how to stroke him to make him come. Where to touch to make him moan. What to do to make him beg for more…

His throat was dry. Yeah, he should be grateful that no one had ever touched Valjean back in jail, but fuck, the thought that Valjean had somehow kept completely chaste did things to him that nothing else had ever done.

“Jerk it for me,” he murmured, “yeah, like that,” and Valjean didn’t even smile at the silly lisp. Instead, Valjean stared at him with wide eyes, gasping a little when he tightened his fingers, and that sight alone was almost enough to make Javert come in his pants right there.

Valjean was panting softly. Every time his hand slid up, his hips jerked forward a little, pushing into the grasp of his fingers. Valjean wasn’t loud; Javert had never assumed he’d be. But he wasn’t completely silent either. His breathing was heavy, and he made soft little overwhelmed noises. No full moans—but those were another thing Javert could claim for himself later.

It didn’t take long.

Just in time, Javert remembered to grab a tissue from his pocket and push it into Valjean’s hand. Valjean bit his lips, the look in his eyes almost desperate as he met Javert’s gaze, and then everything seemed to fall apart just for a moment: Valjean’s strength crumbling as he exhaled, a trembling, low moan, his fingers tightening. 

Javert kept watching, kept taking all of it in as Valjean came into his hand, still trapped against the wall by him, his breath hot against Javert’s cheek as he exhaled shakily.

Javert could only barely keep from pressing a hand against where his own dick was screaming for attention beneath his coat. But he couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop imagining that look of Valjean completely undone when he had him in a bed, when he’d strip away that innocence layer by layer, and—

He ground his teeth, forcefully tearing his thoughts away from that image when Valjean relaxed against him at last. Javert’s own cock was still achingly hard.

Thank God for the leather coat. No one would know if he was still hard when they returned to the party.

And they’d made it through the speeches already. That was really all anyone could ask for. Everyone who was still sober would start to make their way home any moment now anyway, before Chabouillet had a chance to drag them onto the small stage for a karaoke duet.

“Was that… was that sufficient?” Valjean had to swallow. His voice was slightly hoarse, but even so he was smiling again. That private smile that was just for Javert. That special smile that was all quiet, joyful disbelief.

Javert smiled back. Then he took hold of Valjean’s hand to raise it to his lips, tasting a finger for just the slightest hint of Valjean’s come on it.

“For today.” He gave Valjean a smug grin. “Next time you want to pass through my forest, the price will increase...”


End file.
